


sit your arts down

by wintercelestial



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: M/M, genital piercings, tattoo!artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercelestial/pseuds/wintercelestial
Summary: "Lucifer, this is a place of artistic professionalism. As much as you know I’d like to, I won’t let you tempt me into doing anything to you in my own workspace. Anywhere else, of course, is fair game."
Relationships: Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 194





	sit your arts down

**Author's Note:**

> one time i left a prompt in indiavolojones@tumblr‘s inbox for a tattoo au and got destroyed by the result. im just here to supply some porn because honestly why do i have to scratch my own itch?? uhh extra notes for this being set in some random time with established relationships, and 0% feels because i leave that to the professional over at canonlucidia@tumblr yes

[find above-described tattoo artist! au here](https://indiavolojones.tumblr.com/post/612886888223752192/anon-its-like-youre-looking-at-my-diary)

Lucifer shivers in the cool wind of the evening, a hand over his eyes to shield them from the rain.

The door to Diavolo’s quaint little apartment swings open.

A hand pulls him in by the arm and Lucifer suddenly finds himself on the other side of the door, his back to the wood and the warmest lips pressed to his. Opening his mouth to protest only lets a tongue inside, wet and persistent, the metal stud in it brushing against his own softness.

Diavolo withdraws as fast as he had come, releasing Lucifer’s arms from where he’d pinned them against the door. “I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly, but he doesn’t look it in the slightest.

“Stop doing that. Your neighbours would think I was being assaulted.” Lucifer huffs at him and adjusts his clothes like a bird preening down some ruffled feathers. 

“I’ll admit I couldn’t resist. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long outside – I just had to finish setting up a few things for you.”

Lucifer’s hand pauses on the collar of his shirt. He narrows his eyes at Diavolo’s turned back, tracking it as the man starts to walk away. 

“Setting up what?” he demands. The warmth of the heat pump has him shrugging off his coat and folding it over one arm. “What exactly did you call me here for?”

Diavolo doesn’t answer. He just continues down the hallway, forcing Lucifer to follow lest he end up standing there by himself. 

The apartment is small but it reflects Diavolo’s mode of operations at work: clean, tidy, organized. Framed pieces of his own art line the walls. Lucifer catches a glimpse of a study desk obscured with sketches before they enter the last room, Diavolo stepping aside to let him in first.

Lucifer halts, his entire face suddenly blooming bright red. “Is that–”

The door closes quietly in the silence. The only noise is the rain drumming away on the roof, the monotony muffling Diavolo’s footsteps as he approaches from behind to snake his arms around Lucifer’s waist. He nuzzles fondly at Lucifer’s neck, mouthing wet kisses onto his skin as he counts down the seconds before the impending outburst.

“Diavolo, what is the tattoo chair doing in your _bedroom_?” 

Diavolo smiles into the space where jawline melds into neck, lips curving up most salaciously.

_Lucifer, this is a place of artistic professionalism. As much as you know I’d like to, I won’t let you tempt me into doing anything to you in my own workspace._

_Anywhere else, of course, is fair game._

“Let’s call it a compromise,” Diavolo murmurs. He nips gently at the shell of Lucifer’s ear, eliciting a small groan from him. “I can’t bring home to the tattoo shop, but I can bring the tattoo shop home, yes? Don’t think I didn’t see how many times your imagination took off with my chair.”

Lucifer has come to know every inch of this piece of furniture all too well. It’s hardly a surprise considering the mind-numbing hours he’s spent sitting backwards in it, the top half of his body at the mercy of needles and big, warm hands gloved in black latex.

“You have no evidence with which to accuse me,” Lucifer points out, inhaling a controlled breath as Diavolo’s tongue piercing works its magic down his neck.

“You haven’t left yet, so I’m assuming I don’t need any.” 

Lucifer snorts in response. “Fine,” he says with a roll of his eyes as he tosses his coat onto the bed, “since you like playing your little _games_ so much, I’ll let you think this was my idea.” 

Diavolo’s chest shakes with laughter. Not that I expected any less from you, he muses to himself. He reaches around for the buttons of Lucifer’s shirt, his fingers fumbling at them. 

“I still think you wear too many clothes for my liking,” Diavolo tells him, finally grabbing a fistful of shirt and yanking hard enough for multiple buttons to go skittering across the floor. 

Lucifer hisses indignantly at him, partly irate at the thought of having to replace yet _another_ item of his dwindling wardrobe. He’s ignored in favour of hands that are now able to slip past his clothes, roaming over his chest, down his belly’s happy trail, dipping teasingly below the waistline of his underwear. He sighs inwardly at Diavolo’s choice to not venture right in; he is, after all, embarrassingly hard at the thought of being fucked in a _chair_.

“That was old anyway. I won’t miss it,” he sniffs, his face reddening even further when the whole shirt is rolled down his sleeves and discarded in some dark corner of the room with an amused chuckle. 

Diavolo grasps the hem of his own singlet with a hand, pulling it over his head before turning Lucifer around and invading his mouth again, rough and hungry in his exploration. He tastes like deliciousness, with a hint of a mint he’d been chewing on minutes ago, and he just can’t get enough when Lucifer parts his lips for _more_. 

“I thought you might warm up to this idea.” Diavolo grins down at him in the seconds they break apart for air and he heads straight for the belt of Lucifer’s pants. This at least is one item he knows his way around, and a single flip of fingers later he has it hanging undone. “You know, you seem rather enthusiastic for someone who’s about to be put in my chair.”

“Stop it,” Lucifer grumbles at him, and Diavolo shoves a tongue back down his throat to keep him quiet, a hand delving into Lucifer’s underwear to curl around his cock. The gasp that follows ends up being smothered and Diavolo’s own cock pulses uncomfortably at the thought of how hard Lucifer already is.

Diavolo gently guides him backwards and Lucifer steps back, consciously aware that somewhere behind him is the chair, but he trusts Diavolo to not let him trip over it – and then Diavolo twists their positions around again, plopping himself in the seat and dragging Lucifer down with a finger hooked into his belt loops.

Diavolo sits on the tattoo chair like it’s a throne and he’s a king, swirling tribal tattoos bared in all their glory, his thighs spread imposingly wide with Lucifer on his knees in between. Diavolo shucks his sweats low enough for his cock to spring free and a drop of pre-cum slides down the thick shaft. 

Lucifer’s mouth dries up at all the metal he can’t look away from, one barbell in the frenulum to the two rings stacked one above the other on the scrotum, the silver winking back at him in the light.

Diavolo follows Lucifer’s eyes. “I’ll ask Barbatos to book you in for a consultation, if you’re still interested.”

He cackles at the venomous glare he receives back – or is that horrified fascination? He scoots forward slightly, propping his elbows on his knees as his cock bumps against Lucifer’s kiss-swollen lips before pushing inside. “Come on, Lucifer, it won’t bite if you don’t.” 

Lucifer mumbles something unintelligible. The vibration of it sends frissons down the cock jammed in his mouth and Diavolo threads a hand through strands of black hair to pace him, thrusting gently to get in deeper. 

Lucifer coughs when Diavolo’s cock hits the back of his throat and it slips out when he turns his head to the side, small tears in his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath. Fingers pet his cheek and Lucifer takes Diavolo’s cock back in his mouth with a look of defiance, wrapping his fingers around the base in a blindingly tight grip. 

“Again,” Diavolo murmurs, dilated pupils fixed avidly on him. His fingers tighten in the dark hair as Lucifer’s head bobs up and down in a dangerously slow rhythm, tongue drawing patterns against the veins on the underside of Diavolo’s cock. The frenum piercing just under the bulbous head catches over his bottom lip with every thrust, a subtle reminder that it’s _there_.

Lucifer sandwiched between his legs is Diavolo’s heaven on earth and the latter lets him know with a long, drawn-out groan of pleasure.

“You’re going to end me so fast,” he mutters, sucking a breath through his teeth, heat pooling in his guts like a lake of molten lava. Lucifer’s expression only becomes even more smug as he strokes fervently at his own cock jutting out of his underwear and the thoughts that flit through Diavolo’s mind are _obscene._

Diavolo eases his cock out of Lucifer’s mouth and it slumps against his leg, its blank skin stark against the dark ink on his inner thigh. Lucifer almost whines with relief as the ache in his jaw finally recedes, and to his surprise Diavolo stands and walks away. 

“Where are you going?” He blinks as the man throws his sweatpants aside and opens the nightstand drawer, the four great wings tattooed down his back flexing slightly as he rummages around inside. 

“Get in the chair, Lucifer,” is all he says.

Lucifer rests back on his calves, face flushing as he stares up at the tattoo chair set up innocently beside the bed. Which way? His mind is in a daze.

“Sit whichever way you want me to enter you from, of course.” Diavolo’s rumble of laughter at his hesitance only makes his cheeks burn one shade deeper. “Your choice.”

Lucifer perches in the chair in the only way he’s ever been in it – backwards – his stomach pressed against the coolness of the backrest, hands on his thighs. The only difference this time is the full presence of his back piece, now healed beautifully, spanning from the plane of his shoulders down to the dimples of his lower back. 

The drawer shuts as Diavolo straightens and returns his attention to him, the snap of black latex gloves sharp as the glint in his eye. 

Lucifer’s scowling face shoots daggers at him. “I hope this isn’t another one of your ridiculous ideas. What do you need those for?” 

“Why not? I’m setting the mood, since I feel like I’ve got some work to do.” Diavolo crosses the room with lubricant in hand, his cock swaying gently in time with his steps, and sits down on the edge of his bed. He drags the chair closer towards him and pumps the hydraulics with a foot until the chair reaches the height he wants. “I’m going to need to prep you for another session, but I can at least promise it won’t be eight hours long.”

Lucifer pitches his face into the headrest. “You don’t have to say it like that,” he snipes, even as his cock twitches at the thought of spending eight hours pliant in Diavolo’s hands. “Just do what you want.”

“Still in denial that it’s only _me_ who wants this,” Diavolo says under his breath, mildly entertained. “Oh, Lucifer.” 

He tugs at Lucifer’s hips with both hands, pulling him further down the chair until the globe of his ass presents itself to him. He coats his gloved fingers with lube before slipping one past the tight rim of Lucifer’s asshole, making him shift at the sudden intrusion. 

“Ah,” Lucifer gasps, his own fingers digging into his thighs. It feels good, familiar, and he can smell the faint scent of lube, sweet and strawberry. God, not that he expected anything else. Last time it had been banana.

Diavolo patiently works him open with a second and then a third finger later, scissoring the digits until Lucifer’s spine arches, grinding down greedily on his hand for more. The tattoo on Lucifer’s back moves with him and Diavolo takes the time to relax and appraise his own handiwork. Completing the piece had been a long and arduous task requiring sessions upon sessions, multiple breaks and more tattoo balm than he had seen in a long time but the end result was absolutely, undeniably breath-taking. Their hours together had granted him time to see into Lucifer’s psyche but all he’d found were secrets and more secrets.

“Will you stop messing around and hurry up?” Lucifer grits out over his shoulder, and Diavolo is only happy to oblige. 

“I know you’re used to getting what you want, Lucifer, so you only need to ask.” Diavolo rises to his feet and adjusts the chair’s height a bit more, raising it until their hips are level with each other. He drizzles more lubricant over his gloved fingers and swipes them down the length of his cock but it’s pointless; Lucifer’s asshole is stretched out and positively dripping with it.

Diavolo pushes the blunt head of his cock into him, toying at the ring of muscle with his thumb until he bottoms out, cheeks flush against pelvis. Lucifer’s insides grip him even tighter than the gloves on his hands do and Diavolo peppers his shoulders with kisses while he adjusts to the girth inside him.

“Well done, Lucifer, ah, you’re doing so well…”

The words are reminiscent of Lucifer’s first hour under the needle as Diavolo had started on the linework, wincing at the pain in places he’d never felt it in, and then a moment’s respite as the needles lifted and the blood and ink were wiped away. 

Diavolo draws back and thrusts in again, building up to a steady pace that has their words breaking down, dissolving into laboured breaths and stifled moans in the quiet of the bedroom. Diavolo grabs Lucifer’s wrists and secures them behind his back, hips still picking up speed, and he very much embodies the definition of _fucking someone into a chair_. 

Diavolo’s frenum piercing doesn’t escape Lucifer; it rubs past his rim if Diavolo pulls out far enough but if he clenches, the added stimulation makes itself known against _every_ inch inside him. The captive bead rings snug at the top of Diavolo’s scrotum smack gently against his perineum with every movement he makes.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo growls, wiping sweat and red hair off his forehead with the back of his hand, “if you keep squeezing me like that I’m going to lose it.”

“Then lose it,” Lucifer taunts him, clamping down harder, a rush of satisfaction taking hold of his senses when Diavolo grunts with the effort of having to rein it all in and inevitably falls short. 

He heatedly rides the waves of his release, rutting against Lucifer’s ass almost uncontrollably while his cock spurts its load inside him. He resists the urge to collapse over Lucifer’s back and instead steadies himself by bracing a hand against the chair, his breath fanning steadily at Lucifer’s ear. 

“Being inside you is _amazing_ ,” Diavolo gasps, eyes slowly refocusing on him. “Every time…”

“Yes. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve told me so,” Lucifer sighs, feeling the last spasm of Diavolo’s cock as his length finally begins to soften. The amount of praise Diavolo has when he’s not busy knocking some sense into Lucifer is enough to make anyone cringe.

Diavolo pulls out and slides his hands under Lucifer’s thighs, the lube still on his gloves making the job almost effortless, lifting him up and sitting him back down so that they face each other instead. The chair is clammy with sweat and lube and precum and if he stays in it any longer, Diavolo’s seed will leak out of him to join the hot mess in a most undignified manner.

“Finish me off.” Lucifer commands him like he’d done on the day he walked into the tattoo parlour, but only this time Diavolo won’t be talking him out of his request.

Diavolo lowers the height of the chair and kneels on the floor between Lucifer’s parted thighs, a mirrored reversal of their former positions. 

“Of course,” he says, with a flash of white teeth. “That _was_ my intention.” 

He leans forward to give Lucifer’s cock a leisurely taste, tongue running from base to tip, one hand holding each of Lucifer’s trembling thighs firmly in place. Lucifer stares at him in near disapproval of his slowness and Diavolo’s mouth swallows him down, silencing him before he _really_ begins to make demands. The metal barbell snug in his tongue rolling back and forth over the sensitive head of Lucifer’s cock, makes Lucifer’s already hazy vision fill with stars. 

Diavolo seems partial to piling on the pleasure, indulging Lucifer’s ears with the wettest, dirtiest noises he can make while going down on him, his gaze smouldering as he watches Lucifer _shudder_ in his chair.

It doesn’t take much to bring him to the edge of climax. Diavolo takes every last drop of his release down his throat and makes a small show of licking his lips clean, earning himself a furious blush and another glare thrown his way. He lets Lucifer’s cock out of his mouth with a _pop_.

“Mm. You did well.” He smiles, dropping a kiss to each thigh on either side of him. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He peels off the black latex gloves and drops them into a nearby bin.

Lucifer is too blissed out to complain about being gathered up and carried to the bathroom, where Diavolo deposits him in the shower before ducking out to fetch a towel. 

The hot water soothes away the familiar ache of sitting in one position for too long, running over sore muscles and bruises on his wrists that are only just beginning to show. Lucifer scrubs himself clean and comes out to find the last of the evening has bled into night, the rain still not letting up yet. 

Diavolo is back in his grey sweats and white singlet, spraying down the tattoo chair with sanitizer. He glances up and is greeted with Lucifer at the door, hair damp and wearing just the fluffy blue towel left for him in the bathroom. The way Diavolo’s thoughts are going, this isn’t going to be the last time he cleans the chair today.

“You really brought the whole setup from work, didn’t you?” Lucifer shakes his head as he eyes the damp cloth in Diavolo’s other hand. 

“You should know I’m very particular with details,” Diavolo says wryly. He nods at the neat pile of Lucifer’s clothes on the bed. “Those are all yours, except for your shirt. I might not be your size but feel free to borrow one of mine if you need.”

Lucifer’s brow furrows. “Well, of course I’ll need to. It’s too cold and rainy outside to be wearing anything less.”

The corner of Diavolo’s mouth curls up in a faint smile. “Stay the night then,” he suggests, bending over to pick up the discarded lubricant lying on the floor, “and you won’t have to go outside.”

Barbatos has already pierced Monday morning’s first client by the time Diavolo shows up at work.

He frowns as the tattoo artist walks in through the back door with a large chair in tow, still covered in the trademark clear plastic wrap of newly purchased furniture.

“That looks new,” Barbatos remarks, poking his head out into the hallway. “What was wrong with the old one?”

Diavolo sets the brand new tattoo chair down, aligning it with the grooves in the floor that the previous chair had left behind. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and begins stripping the plastic away. 

“I repurposed it,” he replies proudly. “It’s in my bedroom now.”

Barbatos just sighs. He pulls his head back in and continues setting up the autoclave for sterilizing his needles. “Disgusting.”

  
  



End file.
